


Down the Rabbit Hole

by Glass_O_Lemonade



Series: Wonderland Days [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Allison Hargreeves centric, Allison-centric, Alternate Universe - Alice in Wonderland Fusion, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Inspired by Alice in Wonderland, Light Angst, No Apocalypse (Umbrella Academy), Non-Binary Klaus Hargreeves, POV Allison Hargreeves, Post-Season/Series 01, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_O_Lemonade/pseuds/Glass_O_Lemonade
Summary: Allison stumbles into Wonderland after following an anxious white rabbit wearing a suit and carrying an instrument case.Excerpt:“The mad hatter, as the cat referred to him, she discovers is nothing more than a young boy, no older than thirteen if she were to guess. The boy sits at the head of the table reading a newspaper... Allison steps closer to inspect the paper & catch the hatter’s attention, but upon moving the script vanishes from the pages. The boy slams the now textless paper onto the table & glares daggers at her.”





	1. White Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> Context: Allison’s 29/30. This occurs sometime after they stop the apocalypse (without timetraveling.) Vaguely, the apocalypse is stopped because Five stays in the academy and is present when Vanya shows up. Exact and/or vague details of how they averted the apocalypse won’t be addressed/included much (if at all) in this work. All you need to know is that changes were made, and Ep. 10 never happened. It won’t become relevant until the end.
> 
> Thank you for visiting. I hope y’all enjoy.

In hindsight, blindly following the first thing to cross her path, in this case an anxious white rabbit wearing a suit and carrying an instrument case, may not have been the best choice. However, she’s already followed the rabbit long enough to lose track of where she started, and she has yet to see another person or animal this entire time. _How can that be_ , she wonders. It’s a beautiful day, with a slight breeze, a few fluffy, cottony clouds, and the temperature sitting in the low 70’s. It perplexes her to find no one else currently outside enjoying the lovely weather, too.

She attempts to ask the rabbit again where she’s off to in such a hurry, but words fail her like before. Not a single sound escapes her lips, and Allison’s briefly reminded of the color red. The mental flash fades as suddenly as it appeared. As far back as she can remember, which presently wasn’t far, very much, or even a little, she’s been voiceless. A sudden gust of wind, stronger and cooler than what she’s felt so far, blows past her and raises goosebumps along her bare forearms. Allison nearly stumbles over herself at the wind's force, but manages to right herself before falling.

The white rabbit continues her hurried hopping and nervous mutterings under her breath, but Allison’s too far to make any of it out.

Finally, the rabbit comes to a stop. Allison slows her pace, stops to the side and behind. The last thing she wants is for the rabbit to run off again. Allison’s not sure she could keep up much longer. Before the white rabbit lies a hole. From her position, Allison can’t tell how far it goes.

The white rabbit gently rests her case down beside the hole. Allison watches, trancelike, as the rabbit opens her case and removes a shining violin and bow. Before now, Allison’s never seen a rabbit tune a violin, at least, she suspects she’s never seen this done before. She observes, cactivated by the rabbit’s delicate and methodical movements. Again, the color red comes to mind, but still, she has no idea why.

The sound of a violin leaves just as it arrived, without warning. The rabbit returns her violin to its case, and clips the silver contraption closed.

Allison nearly misses the quick look the rabbit shoots her way. Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments. Have rabbits always had the eyes of people? The small creature lifts her case and turns away from Allison in a single, fluid motion. Allison reaches out a hand to stop her, predicts too late what’s about to occur. The white rabbit, with violin case in paw, jumps up and down into the hole.

She quickly steps to the hole’s edge but loses sight of the rabbit almost immediately. Right then a roll of thunder rumbles from above. Storm clouds race into focus and crash into one another. The sky starts a soft cry, but it becomes an angry sob in minutes. Lightning strikes the field ahead of her, and it’s a miracle a wildfire doesn’t begin. Allison wastes no time in running for shelter _(where would she run to?)_ or questioning the weather’s impossible and absurd speed of change. Instead, she does as she has since she woke alone under an oak tree; she follows.

Her soaked clothes cling to her as she jumps into the unusually large rabbit hole.

As she tumbles further down, she knows not what awaits below, but she hopes she’ll find answers all the same.


	2. Caterpillar, Mouse

Allison first wakes alone under an oak tree. When she wakes again, she has reached the bottom of the rabbit hole. The soil’s cool and dry under her hands. She carefully pushes herself up to better inspect her surroundings. Looking up reveals she's a long way from the grassy ground above. Her eyes travel down, studies the singular, curved wall surrounding her.

There’s seven doors, each numbered, built into the earth around her. The sixth stands without a knob or lock. The seventh, she finds, is slightly ajar. Light shines through the gap present. She walks towards it, certain the rabbit left through there. As she approaches, the door grows smaller and smaller in size, until only a hand and an arm can fit through. She huffs at the door’s slight and the door, in response, slams firmly shut.

“Choose another.” Allison jolts back, startled, and quickly searches for the speaker, but she sees no one. “Choose another door,” repeats the aged voice.

 _Choose another._ Allison slowly turns, stares upon each of the remaining exits. Door One is thick and the largest of the seven. It is painted a deep, dark blue, the color of the sky before night completely takes hold. Door Two is black and scarred. Door Four is a pale, ghostly blue-white, and she worries a light wind could blow it down with little effort. Door Five is the brightest and the cleanest, and, unbeknownst to Allison, was both the last and first door added. However, none of these entice her the same as Door Three.

It is a simple brown, an everyday kind of door. One she’s sure she’s seen countless times. It is unpainted, but as she walks towards it, Allison spies flecks of gold within the wood. Allison reaches out, but the gilded handle turns before she touches it. The door opens outwards, an unspoken invitation. Without a moment to consider, Allison walks through Door Three.

Vibrant colors paint the fantastical scenery around her. Mushrooms the size of tables dot the landscape. Flocks of pastel colored birds fly overhead. Patches of tall grass wave in the early afternoon breeze, and not a drop of rain falls from the sky. Her clothes have yet to fully dry, but they’re also nowhere near as soaked as they were before she fell down the rabbit hole. She’s happily surprised to find the weather once more calm.

 _Where am I?_ She thinks, as she gazes out in awe.

“Wonderland, Miss Allison.”

The disembodied voice from before startles her again, but this time due to its words.

_You heard that? You can hear me?_

“I can, and Miss Allison, you are mistaken in referring to my voice as disembodied. If you come closer, you’ll find I indeed have a physical form.”

Could it be the rabbit from before? No, she thinks not. The rabbit, she knows _(yet how does she know?)_ , was a young woman like herself. This voice was closer to that of an old man’s.

_Have you seen a rabbit in a suit pass through here? She held a violin case._

Allison walks forward, unsure whether to turn or continue straight. With each unsure step, she scans the immediate area, looks for the voice. Finally, ahead and to the left, she spots a large gray, brown caterpillar atop a bright pink mushroom. She pauses to momentarily look behind her. The door she crossed through vanished the moment she stepped through, leaving only more of Wonderland in its absence. She turns back to the caterpillar and addresses him directly.

_Excuse me, are you the voice’s owner?_

A pair of round glasses without temples rests on the caterpillar’s nose. The elderly creature slowly meets her inquisitive eyes and nods. “I am.”

Once more, Allison asks after the rabbit. _He must have seen her,_ she thinks, but it is not to be.

The caterpillar shakes his head and explains. “You passed through the gilded door. The rabbit you seek passed through the door of size. However, your paths may still cross again. You are here after all.”

_Here? Wonderland? May you tell me more? It was raining before I fell._

The caterpillar shakes his head again before settling his sad eyes on her one last time. “Additional answers are only my task when all other avenues have failed. You, Miss Allison, have yet to fail.”

The response dissatisfies her, but the caterpillar refuses to engage in any form of discussion further.

 _Now what?_  There’s a tree a short distance away, one with broad limbs and a short, imperfect trunk. She’s unable to recall the last time she climbed a tree or if she ever has, but the additional height may be helpful when deciding where to travel next. _After all,_   _I can’t stay here_ , she decides.

Positive the caterpillar’s silence is not temporary, Allison journeys towards the tree, intent on reaching its top. Before she readies herself to climb, a mournful cry sounds through the air. Her heart tightens at the noise, and she freezes, unsure how to proceed. Another cry reaches her, and the tree begins to appear less necessary each passing second.

Heart and mind made up, Allison sets off at a quick pace towards the source of the cries. As she grows closer, the noise becomes a constant, muted weep. She travels down a hilly side last, and there in the middle of the pond below is a blonde mouse.

 _Mouse, are you alright?_ She waits for a reply, but the other cannot hear her like the caterpillar had. Suddenly, the mouse sinks through the water. She reemerges in seconds, sputters and coughs as she steadies herself back into a float.

Allison cautiously steps into the pond, feels as her right foot lands on mud. If the pond’s floor slopes downwards too much, she can always float and tread water like the mouse. Her left joins her right, and she wades her way towards the mouse. She’s not aware when the cries or weeping stopped. Maybe all the mouse wanted was a friend.

Thankfully, the pond’s deepest point causes the water to stop at her stomach, so Allison remains standing when she pauses beside the mouse. A blank look crosses the mouse’s face, and without warning, the mouse drops below the water’s surface. Again, the mouse swims her way back up, gulps in the fresh air.

Allison cups her hands and attempts to lift and rescue the mouse from the pond. The mouse, predicting Allison’s intent, darts away. Her tiny paws effortlessly cut through the water. Allison stares utterly puzzled. _If the mouse can swim as well as that, why does she ever sink?_

A kind woman’s voice, one that fills Allison’s heart with a strange, familiar sense of warmth, leaves the mouse’s lips. “Dear, I am home.”

 _Home? This pond?_ She’s never known mice to live in bodies of water.

The top of the pond begins to shiver, and ripples race outwards from the two of them. Where once was murky water, instead lies overlapping images of beautiful artwork. Paintings cover the pond’s entire surface. Allison’s starting to understand why here is named Wonderland.

“Isn’t it lovely?”

Allison can’t tell whether the mouse refers to one image or all of them, but she nods her agreement all the same.

“Allison, dear,” the blonde mouse swims closer, rests a single tiny paw on Allison’s arm. “You will always have a home here.”

Allison knows, without the other telling her, that she’ll soon need to leave. There is still the rabbit to find, and unlike the mouse, Allison was not made to live in a pond.

_Why were you crying before?_

Allison doubts the other will answer, but tries all the same. She lifts a hand and mimics wiping away tears. The mouse peers up at her confused. It’s unclear whether she eventually hears Allison’s question, deciphers her mime, or reads her lips as she mouths the words. Regardless, the mouse gives her a kind smile and a short head shake no.

“Don’t you remember? I cannot cry.”

 _Don’t you remember?_ Allison frowns in frustration as the paintings ripple and disappear around them. She feels as if she knows this mouse. It is the same eerie sense that spurred her on to follow the white rabbit, led her to listening to and seeking out the caterpillar. Unfortunately, nothing from before the oak tree comes to mind.

Further dissatisfied and growing cold, Allison thinks a silent goodbye as she leaves the pond. The mouse briefly submerges a third time only to shoot back up again. She finds herself wondering how often a day the mouse nearly drowns. A home like that is no place for a mouse as kind as she, nor is it a place Allison wants to stay and live in.

She leaves the pond directly across from where she entered. Another hill greets her, and she treks up it. Her wet clothes dry at an alarming rate with each step. Trees cluster together on the other side of the hill, forming a dark woods. In the distance, beyond the tree line, Allison sees the pillars of a castle. _Wonderland has a monarch?_ Well, since the caterpillar could not help her, the king or queen might be able to shed more light on her present situation.

The sun rises higher in the sky as time ticks by. Allison breaches the woods and continues forward. Light filters through the thick clumping of leaves; shadows crisscross the dark ground.

She’s unaware how long she’s walked already when she spies the small clearing. Sunlight shines down unhindered, a spotlight in a dark room. She pauses in the middle, smiles as the heat warms her skin.

The sound of crinkling leaves and snapping twigs immediately grabs her full attention. She slowly turns to her left, slows her breathing as not to frighten off whatever’s joined her.

Half in the sun, half in shadow, stands a young fawn. Allison waits, but seconds become minutes and another deer never appears. The fawn, she realizes sadly, is motherless. The fawn meets her gaze, and Allison has to force herself to remain upright at the sight. _I_ _knows those eyes._ Somewhere, somehow, she’s met this fawn before. For the first time, the loss of her memories makes her want to weep.


	3. Fawn, Bandersnatch, Cat

_Half in the sun, half in shadow, stands a young fawn. Allison waits, but seconds become minutes and another deer never appears. The fawn, she realizes sadly, is motherless. The fawn meets her gaze, and Allison has to force herself upright at the sight. She knows those eyes. Somewhere, somehow, she’s met this fawn before. For the first time, the loss of her memories makes her want to weep._

Allison tightly shuts her eyes, blinks away the sudden feeling of loss that courses through her.

The fawn bends her neck, grazes the grass beneath them. Allison silently watches as the fawn minutely moves closer. The sunlight lands on the fawn’s beautiful, short coat as she fully enters the tiny clearing. White dots of various shape and size cover her back, nature’s built-in protection. She must be no older than a year, maybe even younger. _How long has she been without her mother?_ The mere thought nearly resummons the tears from before.

The fawn’s directly before her now. She raises her neck, peers once more into Allison’s eyes.

 _May I-?_  

Allison stretches out her right arm and lifts it above the fawn’s head. She moves her hand down, intends to rest it on the base of the fawn’s neck, near her front shoulder. She never gets the chance.

An inhuman roar pierces the air and shakes the trees. It comes from something much too close to the clearing for Allison’s comfort. The fawn initially freezes. Then, with the onslaught of a second beastly battlecry, she jerks and kicks out. Allison hurries backwards, and trips over a fallen branch in her haste. She tumbles down, but manages to catch herself; her arms out to either side the only buffer between the ground and the back of her head.

The fawn gallops from the clearing, zigs and zags between the trunks of trees. Allison quickly loses sight of the fawn amongst the woods’ shadows.

Thundering booms announce the beast’s presence. A beat sounds, one after the other, with ten seconds of silence inbetween. The blood drains from her face, as she grows pale. Fear grips her, and roots her to the ground. Her legs curl closer to her, her arms move in. _Smaller. Get smaller._ She’s not sure from which direction the beast approaches. She hopes the fawn makes it far away from here. Allison hopes the fawn’s safe.

A third, menacing roar rips through the forest. Allison’s heart skips a beat. _Is this how I die? Memoryless and lost in a woods?_

The sudden sound of cawing and flapping of wings fills the air. Birds abandon their perches and form a swarm in the sky before diving down as a synchronized group. It takes her a moment to realize where they’re flying.

The sound of thunder quickens _(It’s- running...)_ , but it weakens in volume, too _(...away.)_ The beast growls in frustration, but that too eventually becomes unhearable. _Were the birds fending it off? Driving it away? What- what even was that?_

She steadies her breaths, carefully picks herself up off of the dirt and grass. _Which way did I come from again? And which way to the castle from before? Great, I really am lost._

“My eyes must be playing games because I think they see Miss Allison Hargreeves.”

The playful voice floats from her right. Allison spins and locks eyes with a black, purple-ish cat. The cat’s stretched out on a branch, back legs crossed and front legs folded under their chin. Their long tail swishes through the air before forming the shape of a question mark.

The cat grins, claps their front paws together. “It is you! How delightful of you to grace us with your presence.”

Somehow, like the caterpillar and blonde mouse before, this strange smiling cat knows her. She thinks of a reply, of a greeting, but the cat makes no sign of hearing her thoughts. She tries to speak, tries to move her lips and create sounds, but nothing happens. Her throat feels oddly tired, like the exhaustion that comes after a great pain. The cat slightly frowns at her, but returns to their grin in seconds.

“No need, Allison, darling. You are lost, are you not? Of course you are,” they answer instead. “No one sees me otherwise.” The cat, miracously lifts into the air and hovers above the branch. Their entire head rotates clockwise until it is back to how faces should always appear, forehead up, chin down. The cat’s grin seems to grow wider if possible after they spy her slight discomfort. Their eyes reflect a mischievous glint.

“With that nasty bandersnatch dealt with,” starts the cat, “how do you feel about tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Sir Hargreeves is only referred to once (as the Bandersnatch), I removed his character tag so as not to oversell his role.


	4. Dormouse, Hare, Hatter

At the mention of tea, Allison realizes how thirsty she truly is. She can’t recall the last time she drank something. _One cup won’t delay me too long,_ she decides. She gestures an, “after you,” but instead of leading her, the grinning cat vanishes before her eyes. Their tail grows translucent first, becomes completely clear to the point not even an outline remains. Next, their body and face fades. The cat’s front paws disappear last. Both are held upright. One has the word, “Hello,” tattooed on its metacarpal pad. The other reads, “Goodbye.” When the paws vanish, too, first _Hello_ , then _Goodbye_ , Allison’s heart sinks. _How will I leave this woo-_

Just as suddenly as the cat leaves, they immediately reappear beside her, floating in the air, their mischievous grin present. “Follow me.”

Allison gasps, her hand flies to her chest, clutches there in surprise. _How had-? Did they-? Was she-?_  Allison shakes her head, attempts to clear away the jumble of thoughts that flood her. She steadies her breathing. Recentered, she offers a reassuring look, hopes her message gets across. The black, purplish cat merely smiles, begins traveling to- well, she presumes towards the earlier offered tea.

"I must get your autograph, Allison," gushes the cat after a bit of shared silence. They float beside her, guiding her further into the woods. "Not often a star like yourself ventures into Wonderland."

 _Autograph? Star?_ Of course, the cat doesn’t explain either. _If I could find a pen and paper would they elaborate more?_ _Answer my questions?_ She wants to ask about Wonderland, about the castle and the rabbit, the bandersnatch from before. She wants to ask after herself, as the cat seems to know more than they’ve said. She wants- _she wants to speak._  Tears of frustration cloud her eyes, and she quickly tries to blink them away. The cat either ignores her brief cry or misses it. She’s grateful either way. She dries her eyes, resolves to see this impromptu adventure through with her head held high. There would always be time for tears later.

The two eventually reach the edge of the woods. The trees here are sparser and farther apart. A line of hedges lies before them, as tall as the shortest tree in the woods and strenching as far as Allison’s eyes can see.

“The Queen’s labyrinth,” says the cat, points a paw towards the green wall. “The mad hatter, that grumpy old man, serves tea in the middle. Or has he moved to the left back corner now? Hmm?” They rest a paw under their chin, slowly spin in the air, upside down, right side up, down, up.

Allison reaches out a hand, taps the cat.

“Yes?”

She hopes her face conveys what she wants to ask. She points to herself, to the cat, then to the hedges.

“If only I could,” sighs her companion. “Perhaps I’ll pop by later. Tschüss!” Like before, Allison watches as the cat disappears from tail to paws. _Hello_.  _Goodbye_.

 _The Queen’s labyrinth_... The castle must not be much further then. Allison marches forwards, renewed determination motivating her. As she approaches, an entrance forms in the hedge wall. Beyond she sees several paths diverge. _You can do this_ , she assures herself. With nothing to lose and hopefully something to gain, Allison enters the maze. The entry behind her recloses and traps her in.

The sun’s higher than before. She wishes she brought a wristwatch with her... Or a snack... Some water. She loses track of how far she’s walked, which paths she’s tried. She finally stops and sits, leans against one of the prickly block-like bushes. She closes her eyes and breathes. _Just a short rest._

A distant rustling reaches her ears, and Allison turns to inspect the source. There, hopping towards her in a hurry, is the white rabbit. She’s still in her suit, violin case in paw. Allison scurries up, waves at the approaching rabbit, but the other ignores her and hops on past. Without thinking, Allison chases after her, still inextricably drawn to the mysterious rabbit. Could she be headed towards the castle? To tea with the mad hatter?

The rabbit takes a sharp turn left, a sharper turn right. Allison runs after her. She trips here and there, but hauls herself back up everytime. She hopes her designer pants aren’t too new. It’ll take time to clean them of the various stains gained from today. (She doesn't stop to ponder why she knows they're designer. The question never even crosses her mind.)

The white rabbit makes a right, and Allison knows she’s not tried this way already. She turns and expects an exit or the same homogenous stoned path and green borders. She sees neither. The maze opens into a mini courtyard, walling off a long wooden, dinner table. There’s walkways on each side and two breaks in the green (not including the one Allison entered from.) She suspects they both lead back into the maze. Ten chairs surround the table, and expensive china is placed before each seat.

Allison shakes herself from her sudden daze, hurriedly tears her eyes from the table, searches for the white rabbit. _Damnit!_  Like a ghost, the white rabbit’s gone without a trace. Well, that answers one question. She wasn’t in a rush for tea.

Alone again, Allison takes a moment to catch her breath. Her gaze wanders back to the table. On her second lookover she realizes she’s not as alone as she originally thought.

There’s someone sitting at the right end of the table, almost directly in her line of sight. They’re wearing an unusually tall top hat and reading from a thick newspaper. She spies a tea set in the center, a hare at the other end, and a sleeping dormouse. Neither of the other two figures wears a hat. _This must be him._

The mad hatter, as the cat referred to him, she discovers almost immediately, is nothing more than a young boy, no older than thirteen if she were to guess.

From where she stands, she can see the small dormouse asleep on the table, curled up in a black fabric. Later, when she joins the three for tea, she learns it’s a hoodie. At the far left end of the table sits the hare. Allison, later, notices he has a long, thin scar above one eye.

Her throat’s unbearably dry, and it grows more so the longer she puts it off. She’s made it this far on fumes, but... now without a proper distraction, she can’t ignore the building discomfort anymore. Tea. Time for a proper rest and some warm, soothing tea. She silently hopes the hatter will be more forthcoming than the others she’s met. 

Allison steps closer to better view the paper and catch the hatter’s attention, inform him of her presence, but upon moving, the script vanishes from the pages. The mad hatter- _the boy_ slams the now textless newspaper onto the table and glares daggers at her.

“Does no one have common decency anymore?” He throws up his hands and huffs. “When one is reading, others _announce_ their arrival.”

Allison opens her mouth, closes, opens. _Great, I’m a fish._ She shuts her mouth. Her lips thin into a line. She didn’t ask for the boy’s news to disappear.

“Give her a break,” speaks up the hare in her defense. “She lost her voice, remember, old man?”

 _Lost her voice. Lost her voice._  The words circle her mind, but no memories materialize. She knows her feet must have touched the ground, but it’s as if the hare’s words draw her to the table in a floating trance. She doesn’t even recall deciding to move or sit. _Lost her voice. Lost her voice._ She had one before... a voice.

The dormouse raises his head, blinks up at Allison as she scoots her chair closer to the table. The dormouse yawns and stretches his entire rodent body before curling back up in his makeshift hoodie nest. He’s asleep in seconds.

Allison turns to the hatter. His calculating eyes briefly land on her before he faces the hare.

“ _‘Lost’_  implies one was absentminded or dealt consequences from a failure. If one willingly throws something away, leaves it to rust and decay, then, on one hand, you may claim they _‘lost’_  the thing. On the other, one may argue it is impossible to lose something you willingly gave away. However, we both know you were referring to ‘ _lost_ ’ in the first context, like when one loses keys or a child in a divorce, but-” Allison’s heart skips a beat, her stomach knots itself. The boy glances to her, then back to the hare, “ _you are wrong.”_

_...one may argue it is impossible to lose something you willingly gave away._


	5. Knave, King of Hearts

At the hare’s insistence, the hatter pours Allison a cup of tea. She accepts, gives a slight nod in thanks. She goes through the motions: raise, sip, place, raise, sip, place, raise, shake- She carefully places the teacup back on its saucer, returns her unsteady hand to her lap.

_“If one willingly throws something away, leaves it to rust and decay, then, on one hand, you may claim they ‘lost’ the thing. On the other, one may argue it is impossible to lose something you willingly gave away.”_

If Allison were asked how she knew the mad hatter spoke the truth, she would reply, “What does he gain from lying?” That, she thinks, would be better received than simply saying she knows without a doubt the boy wouldn’t lie to her. It's indescribable, this sense of familiarity that's followed her this entire time. Without evidence to suggest otherwise, she trusts it, trusts herself. And again- what does the hatter gain from lying?

Allison lifts her hand, now still, and picks up her cup. She misses the exchange between the hare and boy.

* * *

 

When Allison’s hand began to shake, the hare frowned. He quickly shot a disapproving look at the hatter. The hatter stared back, and his expression asked, _what do you want me to do?_ It wasn't the hatter's fault for Allison's current state. Blaming him would get the hare nowhere. The two continue their silent conversation until the boy has enough.

The hatter directs a dismissive wave to the hare, abruptly ends the discussion. He turns his attention to Allison. She's drinking again, hand much more steady, but eyes still glossed in an unseeing haze. He checks the time and scowls.

The caterpillar had the answers- he _always_ has the answers, but it appears he provided Allison with next to nothing when she crossed his path. He should of known the caterpillar would be no help whatsoever. Now here sits Allison, having arrived much later than anticipated, spurred on not by purpose but mere coincidence. Does no one understand they have a job to do?

He retrieves his discarded newspaper to properly fold it up, a bit forcefully he'll admit, but the current situation's a mess. He's allowed to be a little upset.

The hare, not one for plans, calmly sits at his end of the table and begins to twirl his silverware, blissfully ignorant of the inevitable emotional disaster fast approaching.

As with every day before and every day to come, the hatter curses the fact he's forever stuck here, invisibly chained to a table of tea. Never coffee. Never alcohol. Tea. Forever and ever and ever. A curse like that would make any sensible creature go mad, too.

* * *

 

"Allison."

_Yes?_

_"Allison."_

The hatter's tone pierces the veil she unknowingly trapped herself behind. Allison blinks, turns to the hare, the dormouse, the hatter. Looks down at her now empty teacup. When had she finished drinking? How long has the hatter attempted to address her? Embarrassment colors her cheeks. She responds to the unhappy boy with an apologetic expression.

"How did you get here? To this maze?" clarifies the hatter seeing her momentary confusion.

She raises her hands, mimes writing on a pad of paper. The hatter shakes his head no. _The cat_ , she thinks. _They led me here._ She puts her hands on her head, mimics the ears of a cat. Acts like she's licking her arm, like she's a grooming feline. She opens her mouth, knows no noise will leave, but meows all the same.

Recognition strikes the hare and hatter simultaneously. The hare's ears perk up. The boy nods, gestures for her to stop.

"At least someone is still reliable," remarks the hatter to himself.

"Oh, I feel touched. Never thought I'd see the day." There, floating above the center of the table, is the grinning, black and purplish cat from before. The hatter scowls at the cat's sudden appearance.

"I wasn't referring to you," grumbles the boy.

"Of course, you weren't," assures the cat, but Allison sees their grin grow wider.

"What are you doing here?" asks the hare.

"To see Allison! And visit my favorite hypersomniac." The cat's tail flicks at the dormouse, but it doesn't rouse him.

"Something's wrong," says the hatter, eyes narrowed. The cat's smile and playful aura drops. If Allison blinked, she would have missed it, the change is lightning fast. When the cat grins again, Allison clearly sees how fake the other's good mood is. _They're pretending. Are they always-_

"Old man, nothing's-"

"If you finish that nonsense, I will skin you alive," threatens the mad hatter. Allison jerks in her seat at his unexpected words.

The cat tsks, completely unperturbed by the threat of violence directed their way. "You got me." The cat's face changes to a serious expression, or as serious as the always grinning feline can look. "I popped by to warn you. The Queen knows." Several things simultaneously happen immediately after the cat says this.

The mad hatter curses, clenches his hand into a tight fist and slams it on the table. Two loud, too close noises spook Allison, and she jumps in her seat, eyes huge. To her left is the hare, paw firmly gripped around the handle of his dinner knife. He's successfully stabbed it into the wooden table. Lastly, the cat disappears, wishes them each good luck.

"Get back here, you fiend!" shouts the hare. This entire time, she pegged the hare as the calm one, but Allison realizes she thought too soon as she watches in horror the hare throw his spoon through the air in anger. It arches, flies through the space the cat just occupied, and hits the mad hatter squarely between the eyes.

" _Number Two_."

"Yes, _old man?"_

Allison scoots her chair away from the table just in time to avoid the dishes the two begin throwing at one another. Did the cat's warning cause this? Was the Queen, just by name alone, truly worth her companions' angry reactions? Was it anger? Or were they both masking fear? Should she be just as worried?

"You're wasting precious time!" yells the hatter.

"You threw your plate at me!"

"Imbecile! You hit me with your spoon!"

"I was trying to hit that pesky cat!"

Allison loses track of who throws and shouts what. She wants to leave, to avoid this madness and unnecessary fighting. She wants to leave. She wants to leave. _She wants to return home._

_"Psst."_

_Hello?_ Was... was there someone else's voice in her mind? Allison searches for the source, sees the dormouse's tiny black eyes peering up at her from the gathered hoodie. _You?_

_"Go to the castle. Take the path by the hare. Two rights, one left."_

_But the Queen?_

_"Was always going to find out."_

_Find out what?_

The dormouse twitches his nose. Blinks. _"You."_

He lowers his head and rests again. She glances to the exit he mentioned, debates what she should do. The cat’s gone. She suspects the hatter and hare won’t be much help for a while longer. Decision easily made, she gracefully rises from her seat, and dashes towards the left path.

_Two rights, one left._

Neither the hare nor hatter call after her.

_One right, one left._

She doesn’t trip, faulter, or slow.

_One left._

* * *

 

There’s a stone bridge a few paces before her. A clear, sparkling, blue creek flows beneath it. On the other side stands the castle. From this distance, Allison sees the castle for the intimidating structure it is. Behind her the maze exit disappears, the hedges rejoining to form an endless wall.

The imposing castle gate raises, and out walks a knight. Allison takes a cautionary step back, keeps her eyes on the man’s every move. As he crosses the bridge, Allison’s initial mistrust fades. His eyes are kind, his smile familiar. There’s a single red heart, an ace, painted in the top-left corner of his chest plate. A jagged, diagonal line of tape mars the metal, runs from his shoulder to his hip. It splits the armor piece in two, but also reconnects it as one. In the bottom-right corner is a painted black club.

She loops up, meets the stranger’s gaze.

“Allison of Door Three, the Queen of Hearts requests your presence.”

When she doesn’t reply the color drains from his face. “You have your voice, yes? Allison?”

She shakes her head no.

“But you must. The Queen- You have to have it,” he insists, worry evident in his posture, his voice.

She crosses her arms, hopes her annoyance is clearly expressed and received.

He takes a deep breath, attempts to school the clear concern across his face, stands at his highest height. “Allison of Door Three, the Queen of Hearts requests your presence.” His voice is more reserved, earlier smile absent this time.

Allison steps forwards, waits for him to start leading. He turns back to the castle, and Allison begins her penultimate journey in Wonderland.

* * *

 

The sound of the gate closing and clicking into place reverberates in the spacious courtyard. Allison gazes in awe around her. From the outside, one never would have expected the castle’s interior to be as beautiful as it is. The knight pushes open an arched door. He holds it open as she crosses through. They’re in a long hallway, doors stand on either side, and in the distance, she makes out a staircase.

Torches line the walls, both warm and light their path forward.

When they reach the stairs, the knight sends her on before him. He follows after her several paces back.

The stairs end at the second floor. Dark, wooden double doors greet Allison first. On either side sits a large pot of red roses. She starts forward, but pauses, unsure. Perhaps there’s another set of stairs? Should she travel down one of the halls here first? The knight’s arrival draws her from her mind, directs her attention back to the thick, double doors.

He turns the heart shaped knobs, pushes both doors open. Bright light floods the dimly lit landing. Allison raises a hand to shield her eyes as they quickly adjust. When she lowers her arm, the great hall of the castle fills her sight. The polished floor sparkles under the varied lights. A baroque chandelier hangs from the high ceiling in the center. Torches line the walls, and vases of roses sit on pedestals placed between them.

There’s a raised level at the farthest end where a golden throne sits and looks out onto the great hall. Four steps join the platform to the floor. A door opens from the right of the platform. Allison walks further into the windowless room. The knight silently closes the double doors. A man steps through the back door, makes no sign of seeing her or the knight. He shuts the door, turns, and goes up the stairs. Allison stands beneath the chandelier. A strange mix of emotions fill her chest as she studies the man.

A well-groomed, short-cut beard covers his sharp jawline, borders his mouth, seamlessly meets his sideburns. She knows, despite the distance, that his eyes are the same brown as his hair. He’s familiar, but she doesn’t feel drawn to him in the same way like everyone else whose paths she’s crossed today. She doesn’t know why, but the longer she’s here the stronger the urge she has to turn back and run.

The man steps behind the monarch’s chair, digs through something back there. When he comes back around, there’s a simple crown atop his head. It’s bent at the top in areas, and a few jewels are missing. He finally faces her. Recognition flashes across his face. He hurries down the steps, stops a space or two before her. The knight’s joined them in the middle of the room, but waits behind her, slightly off to the side.

“Allison,” breathes the king. He looks to the knight and nods. “Thank you, knave.”

The knave half bows, then makes his way to stand beside the throne.

“You’re awfully late,” says the king. “The Queen expected you hours ago.”

_Expected me?_

“Come. She’ll be here any moment. The trial will begin prompty after she arrives.” He leads her to a small desk and chair, both uncomfortably sized for a woman her age and height. _Where did these come from?_ The room was empty moments ago, she was sure of it. The king gestures for her to sit. Without much choice, Allison reluctantly does. The king gives her a gentle smile before joining the knave.

The shrill sound of wood scraping on tile suddenly fills the room. She scrunches her face in discomfort and covers her ears. Allison turns her neck as much as she can and stares dumbfounded behind her.

Pews upon pews stretch from the front to the back of the room in two columns, leaving an aisle in the middle for guests to enter and take their seat. Men, women, children, and animals stream into the hall. As the rows fill to capacity, another few shrills sound from the continued scooting of pews.

An unusually tall top hat enters the crowd, sits next to some twitching and familiar ears. _The hatter? The hare?_ She grips the back of her seat, maneuvers her legs around to the side. More comfortable, she runs her eyes over every pew. Up front sits the blonde mouse, the caterpillar, and sleeping dormouse. Further in the back, white ears rise and fall, rise and fall. Could it be the rabbit, still in a state of anxious hopping? From the corner she sees two tattooed paws appear and vanish, appear and vanish. _Even the cat’s here? Is everyone?_ She, gratefully, does not spy a monstrous beast in the crowd, and is relieved to discover the bandersnatch in absence. Sadly, Allison searches once, twice, and thrice, but the fawn, too, is no where to be seen.

Unexplainably disappointed by the fawn’s absence, Allison shifts forward. The knave and king stand on either side of the throne. She doubts they’ve moved this entire time. Neither appear surprised by the sudden appearance of random pews and Wonderland citizens.

Why was everyone here? What was it the king said?  _“The trial will begin promptly after she arrives.”_ The trial. They were here to witness the Queen hold court, but who was on-

Dread freezes her in place, grips her heart in a tight vice. Her stomach knots, and she’s reminded of the fear that gripped her in the woods. She’s the only one not beside the Queen’s throne or seated in a pew. Her desk lies directly in the center of the throne’s view, only three or so paces from the platform’s first step. _This is her trial._

She is going to go on trial for a crime or crimes she knows absolutely nothing about. Run. _Run_. She wants to flee, to vanish as easy as the grinning cat, but her feet are still.

The back door opens.

“Rise!” projects the knave. “For the Queen of Hearts!”

As one, the entire room stands in respect. Allison stands up as if in a dream, as if her body and mind were no longer one. She stares at the opened door, waits and watches for the Queen of Hearts.

When the Queen enters, Allison’s heart stops. A voiceless scream is born and dies in her throat.

_How-_

The Queen of Hearts sits on her golden throne. The crowd takes their seat. Allison practically falls into hers.

_How is this possible?_

There, on the throne, the Queen of Hearts, is Allison herself.


	6. Queen of Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may rewrite this chapter and/or expand upon it after writing and posting chapter seven. ~ Kudos to the reader(s) who correctly guess the final chapter's title.

After the Queen sits, the knave calls for everyone else to be seated. Allison nearly falls into her chair. There, on the throne, the Queen of Hearts, is Allison herself. Allison’s- the _Queen’s_ hair falls in spirals on her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. A golden circlet rests on her head. Thornless, blood red roses rest atop the delicate gold, their short stems woven into the piece.

The Queen looks out at her audience before ending her gaze on Allison. Their eyes meet, and time seems to momentarily freeze. Allison stares at the Queen of Hearts and sees only her own reflection. The Queen's expression is, at first, unreadable, but as the seconds pass, the other Allison looks upon her in nothing but disdain.

The knave clears his throat, and the Queen glances towards him. Allison reminds herself to breathe.

"The trial of Number Three, Allison Hargreeves will now commence," announces the blonde knave.

The Queen's severe eyes land on her once more. _Breathe. In. Out. In. Ou-_

"For the crime of tardiness," the Queen of Heart's voice fills every corner of the great hall. It's her voice, _Allison's voice_ , that leaves the Queen's perfectly lined and colored lips. "I decree you guilty. For the crime of self-interest, I decree you guilty. For the crime of-"

_Manipulation. Guilty._

_Deceit. Guilty._

_Cowardice. Guilty._

_Dependence. Guilty._

_Abandonment. Guilty._

"For the crime of complicity, I decree you guilty. What is your defense?"

_Tardiness. Self-interest. Manipulation. Deceit. Coward-_

"Allison Hargreeves, what is your defense?" repeats the Queen of Hearts louder, frustrated with Allison's lack of a timely response. The charges and rulings circle her mind, drowning out everything else around her. She's glued to her seat, and her heart races at an unnatural speed. "Number Three!"

Allison physically jolts in her chair as if she's been slapped. Judging from the Queen's tone and irate expression, she may as well have. The Queen of Hearts openly glares at her.

"I heard a rumor that you stood from your seat and participated in this trial." The Queen's words are like ice down her spine. Her voice is poisoned honey. Mental alarms begin ringing in Allison’s head, but she's unable to decipher why. Allison immediately stands up, as if she were a puppet under the Queen's control. _You are. I am._

The Queen's lips curl into a cruel smile at the sight. "Now, what is your defense to these charges."

Allison opens her mouth, compelled to participate, but not even a hush of a whisper escapes. The Queen rolls her eyes at the pathetic attempt of a response. "Knave, have it documented that Allison continues to exhibit cowardice."

 _...continues to exhibit cowardice?_ Allison clenches her hands, forces them to stay still by her sides. She can't speak, this is- _was_ never about her wanting or not wanting to talk. If she could speak, she would. For the Queen to interpret her inability as cowardice...

Allison's frustration must be evident because the Queen scoffs when she looks at her again. "Unbelievable," says the Queen, "you still don't know. You've journeyed here all day, and yet you still haven't realized."

_Realized what?_

"Allison, you've had your voice this entire time."

 

 

 

No.

 

 

 

She hasn't.

 

 

 

She's lying.

 

 

 

_She's lying._

 

 

 

"You know I'm not. After all, I am you."

 

 

 

_She's standing in a house, in a chapel, in a bank, in a bedroom. She's pleading with someone, she says "I do," she rumors a gunman, she rumors her child. She's laughing, she's crying, she's shouting at Pa-, she's pleading, she's begging, she's lying, she's lying, she rumors again and again and again and agai-_

She can't breathe. _She can't breathe. Why can't she breathe? When did she get on the ground?_

Her head's pounding and the ceiling's spinning. Someone's shouting and someone else is shouting back. It takes a while for her heart to slow even minutely, for the rushing in her ears to fade to dullness. A baroque chandelier dangles above her.

"-defendant into a panic! This entire trial is a sham!"

"Remember your place, hatter!"

"Remember? Remember?! How can I ever forget?!"

"Knave! Remove him and his attack hare at once!"

"Queen, love, maybe you-"

"Silence!"

The king bows his head, and his shoulders slightly slump down. The knave steps away from the Queen's side, considers pausing to help Allison up off the tile, but thinks better than to disobey a direct order from his Queen. The hatter stands atop his pew, spitting mad. He locks eyes with the knave and snarls. At some point in the chaos, the hare beside him had punched out at the pew in front of them, startling several old hens. Now the hare just stands and loudly curses the Queen and her fools’ court. The knave doesn't want to fight either attendee, and hopes they'll exit the hall and castle by their own choosing.

Suddenly, a woman's voice calls from the back of the great hall, and a hush falls upon the room. The hatter bites his tongue. The hare shuts his mouth, keeps his next curse unsaid. Even the knave stops in his advance. Allison blinks, and the ceiling stills.

"Miss Queen of Hearts? This is a public trial is it not?"

The Queen considers the question, then she gives a slow nod.

"And the hatter and hare are public citizens?"

Another nod.

"Then, shouldn't they stay?"

As the woman speaks, Allison slowly sits up. She curls her legs under her, rests an arm on the desk chair, lies her aching head in her arm's crook.

"Who asks these questions? I heard a ru-"

"No need, your majesty," assures the woman. With effort, Allison raises her head to turn and look behind herself. Out from a back pew, hops the white rabbit, suit pristine, violin case ever present. The white rabbit hops up next to her, but never once glances her way.

"Seven." The Queen's earlier fire seems to blow out the moment her eyes land on the white rabbit. No one speaks for a minute or two, and Allison's grateful for the brief peace. Her heart may no longer be in threat of beating out her chest and her earlier vertigo now gone, but her mind's a complete and disorganized mess. It's as if someone poured concrete into her skull.

"Wonderland Law requires each defendant call upon, at minimum, one witness," explains the white rabbit. "Number Three, Allison Hargreeves is calling on me."

"Allison," the Queen turns to her, slightly frowns when she discovers her still on the ground. "Do you call on this witness?"

When Allison opens her mouth, everyone in the Great Hall hears her reply, "I do." Relief bursts forth from her chest when she hears her own voice for the first time in- days? weeks? months? _years?_ Something shimmers across the Queen's face- pride? joy? -but it disappears before Allison can properly identify it.

"Knave," calls the Queen of Hearts, "return to your post." The knave turns, leaves the hatter and hare. The hatter and hare retake their seats, moods no longer explosive, but still simmering.

As the knave walks past, he stops and offers Allison a hand. Even now, the man's face is as gentle, earnest, and familiar as before. She knows him. He's her br- Allison accepts the proffered assistance. The knave helps her up and into the too small chair. Deed done, he finishes his walk, stands once more beside the Queen of Hearts' throne.

The Queen gestures for the white rabbit to begin.

"As all trials go, you have read aloud Allison's crimes and decreed your verdicts. I stand here as Allison's witness not to dispute those crimes you've ruled her guilty of, but to humbly inform you and this court that one crime was not mentioned and judged."

* * *

 

The moon, nearly full, hangs high in the night sky.

Allison, a woman both guilty and free, stands under the moon's light, borrowed from the previous day's sun. Tall trees surround her, border the small clearing she finds herself in once more.

From the dark, out steps the fawn. With each step closer, the fawn disintegrates, turns to dust and blows away in the night air. In the fawn's place, is a child, Allison's child.

_"Claire."_

* * *

 

The white rabbit, her si-, returns to her seat.

A minute, then two pass.

When the Queen of Hearts gazes upon Allison now, it is not disdain, scorn, cruel humor, nor impatience that she expresses. Allison thinks... she thinks, as she gazes back at the Queen, that the other her looks almost sad... regretful.

Finally, the Queen speaks, declares her final verdict.

* * *

 

_"Claire."_

_"Mom."_

* * *

 

"For the crime of refusing to forgive yourself, I decree you guilty."

* * *

 

_"Allison. Allison, dear, it's time to wake up."_


	7. Allison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to howboutwedance for correctly guessing this chapter's title!
> 
> Reminder: This occurs after they stop the apocalypse (without timetraveling.) Vaguely, the apocalypse is stopped because Five stays in the academy and is present when Vanya shows up, so Ep. 10 never happened.

The evening of April 8, 2019 arrives. The night finds Allison at the airport returning to LA. She boards the plane around nine o’clock. Luther and Five see her off. Only Luther and Five. Allison consciously decides not to dwell on that fact. Doing so would only lead her down a path of ugly truths. Instead, she ignores the mixture of emotions that suddenly appear in her mind and heart. With the assistance of a seratonin tablet, Allison falls asleep soon after the wheels leave the pavement. The hours in the air pass quickly as she slumbers. Finally, the plane lands. The aisle lights turn on as the plane begins rolling to its assigned gate.

There's no one waiting for her when she lands. She expected this.

* * *

 

_She reaches out a hand to stop the white rabbit, predicts too late what’s about to occur. With violin case in paw, the rabbit jumps up and down into the hole._

_Allison loses sight of her immediately. Right then a roll of thunder rumbles from above. Storm clouds race into focus and crash into one another. The sky starts a soft cry, but it becomes an angry sob in minutes. Lightning strikes the field ahead of her. Allison wastes no time in running for shelter or questioning the weather’s change. Instead, she does as she has since she woke alone under an oak tree; she follows._

_Her soaked clothes cling to her as she jumps into the unusually large rabbit hole. As she tumbles further down, she knows not what awaits below, but she hopes she’ll find answers all the same._

* * *

 

She covers her neck in concealer and powder, wears shirts, jackets, and dresses with high collars, scarves as a last resort.

Within three days of arriving back in LA, her agent and publicist draft a public statement concerning her injury. Allison skims it and gives them the go-ahead to release. They cancel all of her commitments for the next two months. They leave everything else on the table, at least for now. She loses the role for an upcoming action movie, one she auditioned for back at the end of January. Her agent assures her there'll be more, better roles for her, but Allison, to the surprise of her team and herself, doesn't care about the loss.

Neither her agent nor publicist address the elephant in the room, the slim likelihood that she'll ever fully heal, ever regain her voice, or that it'll even be the same if she miraculously does. She knows they'll eventually drop her as a client, once it's clear Allison Hargreeves, the star, is no more. When all of her rumors finally spin themselves undone. When that day comes, she won't blame them for deserting her.

With the next two months completely open, Allison turns her attention to the future, refuses to allow herself to dwell any longer in the past. She hires a private ASL tutor and begins weekly sessions with a court approved therapist.

* * *

 

_“Don’t you remember? I cannot cry.”_

_Allison frowns in frustration as the paintings ripple and disappear. She feels as if she knows this mouse. It's the same eerie sense that spurred her on to follow the rabbit, led her to listening to and seeking out the caterpillar. Unfortunately, nothing from before the oak tree comes to mind._

_Further dissatisfied and growing cold, Allison thinks a silent goodbye as she leaves the pond. The mouse submerges a third time only to shoot back up again. She finds herself wondering how often a day the mouse nearly drowns. A home like that is no place for a mouse as kind as she, nor is it a place Allison wants to stay and live in._

* * *

 

Her two month hiatus starts slow. When not attending a language lesson or a therapy session, she finds herself alone in her too big house, staring at the ceiling, flipping through random television channels.

She starts a letter. Correction, she starts multiple letters, but never sends one. She has much she wants to say, to apologize for, but every time she puts pen to paper, her mind goes blank.

There's one or two unfinished drafts addressed to Diego and Five. One for Klaus, but she's not aware if they’re even still staying at the academy these days. The last two piles, both about even in quantity, are addressed to Luther and Vanya.

She shares with her therapist, all through written communication and nonverbal body language, about her childhood, her power, her father, her siblings. Surprisingly, the apocalypse has yet to come up.

Before she knows it, her professional hiatus is ending. Within an hour of each other, her agent and publicist both arrive outside her door.

Various organizations want her as a spokesperson. The offers take her aback, and she requests the night to sleep on them. Before they leave, Allison politely reminds them she's mute, not deaf. _When fielding jobs_ , she clarifies on her legal pad.

In the morning, she agrees to a public service announcement, assures her agent and the director that she'll know the necessary signing well in advance. That week she begins to see her tutor once a day.

* * *

 

_The sunlight lands on the fawn’s beautiful coat as she fully enters the clearing. White dots of various shape and size cover the fawn’s back, nature’s built-in protection. She must be no older than a year, maybe younger. How long has she been without her mother? The mere thought nearly resummons the tears from before._

_The fawn’s directly before her now. She raises her neck, peers once more into Allison’s eyes._

* * *

 

The PSA wraps, and an assistant rushes her immediately, informs her someone called earlier. "They mentioned your ex-husband and daughter. I left their information by your personal effects in wardrobe.”

Allison nods in reply, gives a grateful smile. She hurries there, scoops up the assistant’s sticky note, her jacket, and purse. She exits the building and hails down a passing taxi. She reaches in her purse and withdraws her lawyer’s business card, shows it to the driver. The man starts the car, says he’s been down to that side of town plenty of times.

Her lawyer’s still in his office when she arrives. She shows him the sticky note, face inquisitive. He smiles at her, warns her she may want to sit down for this.

“...monthly supervised visits. Patrick’s lawyer called me an hour ago confirming these could start as early as this weekend.”

Three days. She could see her daughter again, hold her again, in three days.

Allison agrees to the court and case worker’s new terms immediately.

* * *

 

_She knows her feet must have touched the ground, but it’s as if the hare’s words draw her to the table in a floating trance. She doesn’t recall deciding to move or sit. Lost her voice. Lost her voice. She had one before... a voice._

_The dormouse raises his head, blinks up at Allison as she scoots her chair closer to the table. The dormouse yawns and stretches his entire body before curling back up in his makeshift hoodie nest. He’s asleep in seconds._

_Allison turns to the hatter. His calculating eyes briefly land on her before he faces the hare._

* * *

 

Patrick arrives with Claire a few minutes after the case worker. Gone is the hate, the distrust that filled his eyes those long, contentious months. Later, when Claire’s momentarily in the kitchen, he offers Allison his sympathies, says he’s proud of her for trying. They both know she’s doing this for their daughter, the one light of joy that came from their shamble of a marriage. Regardless, she hopes they can one day heal their own divide, maybe even become friends again.

When they arrive, Claire’s squeals of excitement fill the entire house, accompanied by the hurried click-clacks of her sandals on the tile floor. Patrick calls out a slow down, and Allison rushes to stand from the couch, holds her arms open wide. Claire leaps into her embrace, bright smile clearing away all of Allison’s doubts. Claire is here, smiling and hugging her. Her daughter still loves her. _Claire still loves me._

Allison tightly wraps her arms around Claire, gently rests her head on top of her daughter’s.

“I’m so happy right now.” Claire speaks into her shoulder. If possible, Allison hugs her tighter.

_Me, too, baby._

* * *

 

_The imposing castle gate raises, and out walks a knight. Allison takes a cautionary step back, keeps her eyes on the man’s every move. As he crosses the bridge, Allison’s initial mistrust fades. His eyes are kind, his smile familiar. There’s a single red heart, an ace, painted in the top-left corner of his chest plate. A jagged, diagonal line of tape mars the metal, runs from his shoulder to his hip. It splits the armor piece in two, reconnects it as one. In the bottom-right corner is a painted black club._

_She glances up, meets the stranger’s gaze._

_“Allison of Door Three, the Queen of Hearts requests your presence.”_

* * *

 

Eventually, Allison begins working through her relationship with Patrick in her sessions, and by extension, her unresolved thing with Luther. Her therapist helps her sort her emotions, her confusing thoughts.

Patrick is the first man she ever went on a third date with, the first to say, “I love you.” It happens after six months, and she’s taken aback. She’s seen and starred in enough romance films to know what happens next, so without waiting, she says it, too.

She thinks, looking back, that they were always bound to fail. She loved Patrick, yes, but not the same way he loved her. He was a kind man and a great father, but she stayed because he was safe. In a sense, she rumored herself into believing her reality was a fairytale fantasy come true. 

Luther, she realizes, was nothing more than an infatuation of hers. His friendship became her safety net while growing up in the academy. As a child, and then teen, in her sheltered and abusive situation, she merely misconstrued her draw to him as one of romantic origins. Her therapist assures her she’s not the only one who’s sought a partner that reminds them of a relative. Those who value attributes held by a parent, may indeed, unknowingly, seek similarities when dating.

Allison shares what she knows, what she thinks about Luther, but her therapist apologizes before she finishes and gently explains. “I’m here to help _you_ , Allison. If you feel your brother would benefit from speaking with someone, then, yes, please encourage him to make an appointment near him, but I’m not here to listen to or advise anyone that’s not currently my patient.”

She looks away, nods her understanding. Luther was the last to leave the academy, only to live completely isolated for four years. He was Number One, but it seems life always reaches him last. It saddens her to accept, but this new perspective she’s received will have to find him on his own time, too. Just as she’s trying, learning, and healing on her own time, so, too, must Luther and her other siblings.

* * *

 

_Allison's frustration must be evident because the Queen scoffs when she looks at her. "Unbelievable," says the Queen, "you still don't know. You've journeyed here all day, and you still haven't realized."_

_Realized what?_

_"Allison, you've had your voice this entire time."_

* * *

 

After a year, Allison finds herself, again, standing in a courthouse. It lasts approximately twenty minutes, and then it’s over. She takes a moment, replays the judge’s words in her mind. _Joint custody._   _Joint custody._

Patrick walks her out, promises to drop Claire off in the next few days.

It takes a little time to adjust to having Claire back, this time as a single parent, but Allison works through it and makes the necessary changes with work well in advance.

The first week of Claire's summer vacation is spent at the academy. Grace greets them with a cake and freshly baked cookies.  Diego and Vanya drop by throughout their stay. Her other ~~three~~   _four_ brothers are never too far to find, as they each now call the academy home. She’s pleasantly surprised to discover they’ve made it an entire year. She can’t help but wonder how those first few months went between Luther, Five, Klaus, and their dead brother, Ben.

The trip goes better than she expects, and she marvels at how far they’ve each come in only a year. She thinks back to their 30th birthday, Klaus’ 31st, and Five’s 59th. It was the first time since the not-apocalypse with the seven of them under the same roof. It’d been an awkward affair, but they managed through it with minimum damage to the academy and each other. This time, the academy seems brighter, warmer.

Vanya, with the help of Five and Klaus, no longer takes their father’s medication. Observing her control, one would think Vanya always had access to her abilities. Claire’s in the air, lifted by Vanya’s energy. Allison watches on, smiles as her daughter’s carefree laughter fills the entire courtyard. “Higher, Aunt Vanya!”

On their final night in town, they all gather for a family dinner. Luther clears his throat, raises his glass to make a toast. Diego’s the first to raise his in solidarity. It’s a small act, but loud. Everyone else follows as one, and Luther starts. He thanks them for attending, for being there to celebrate Allison and Claire. She wants to look away, to lower her glass and toast to something else, anything else. Yes, she has her daughter back, is now sharing custody, still has auditions coming in despite her throat, but she’s not done anything worthy of her siblings’ praise. She was required to attend therapy if she ever wanted a chance to be in the same room as Claire. Without that court mandate, she never would have sought it out. She only has new job offers because of her leftover fame before her injury, the fame she rumored her way to gaining. Even Claire’s with her partially because Patrick no longer has to worry she’ll abuse her power. She has no voice. She has no power.

Her family clinks their glasses, and all Allison can do is offer the smallest of smiles. The joy from the week, from this family dinner, drains out of her, and leaves her only empty inside. Vanya tries to catch her eye, attempts some sign language, but Allison can’t bare to meet her gaze. She knows if she does, her charade will completely breal apart.

Allison excuses herself first, assures Claire she can stay up as long as she wants. She signs thanks to Grace, before leaving the room.

That night she barely sleeps.

The previous evening clings to her the next day. She smiles through, hugs and signs goodbye to each of her siblings in front of the airport. No one asks, writes her mood off as mere sadness, another vacation coming to an end.

Before they depart, Five takes her aside, tells her they’ve figured it out, him, Pogo, and Mom. “Your injury’s always been treatable, Allison. It just took us longer than expected to work out a proper solution.”

She thanks him, but doesn’t agree or disagree to the procedure, doesn’t inquire further at all. The entire flight home to LA, dread plagues her thoughts. A year ago, she would have done anything to get her voice back, but now... Regaining her voice could ruin _everything._

* * *

 

_The Queen gestures for the white rabbit to begin._

_"As all trials go, you have read aloud Allison's crimes and decreed your verdicts. I stand here as Allison's witness not to dispute those crimes you've ruled her guilty of, but to humbly inform you and this court that one crime was not mentioned and judged."_

* * *

  

Five’s offer weighs on her everyday, every night. The summer months fly by, and Allison’s as conflicted in September as she was in June.

Her therapist suggests she finally discuss it with Patrick. “Presently, you only have what-ifs, and these fears are beginning to interfere with your daily life.” Allison sighs. Her therapist offers a reassuring smile. “It’s clear to me, you value his opinion. What could it hurt?”

It takes a week, but she finally works up the courage to discuss the procedure with Patrick. He immediately congratulates her, but quickly calms when he sees her expression.

“I don’t understand. I thought this was what you wanted.”

 _I did, too,_ she writes. She bites her lips, considers whether to explain further.

“What aren’t you telling me?” He asks, eyes cautious.

_If I do this and get my voice back, I’ll get my rumors, too._

She sees the realization dawn on her ex-husband’s face. She crumples the paper, blinks back the sudden tears that threaten to fall.

“Allison, hey,” his voice is soft, and he reaches his hands out to clasp hers. “You’re not the same person you were when we were married.” She scoffs at that, but he shakes his head. “I don’t mean your injury. You’ve changed Allison. If this is what you want, and it turns out your power comes back, too, then we’ll handle that. You’re not going to quit therapy the moment your voice comes back, will you?” She adamantly shakes her head no, feels hurt he’d even suggest that. “My point exactly,” he gently squeezes her hands.

At her next session, she shares Patrick’s reaction. Her therapist smiles. “Allison, it was never your rumors that made you who you are. It was what you chose to do with them.”

That afternoon, she contacts her agent and publicist, informs them she’s going on a month leave for medical reasons.

* * *

 

_"For the crime of refusing to forgive yourself, I decree you guilty."_

* * *

 

The procedure takes several hours, but she’s unconscious for it all. Instead, she dreams.

* * *

 

_"Allison. Allison, dear, it’s time to wake up.”_

* * *

 

It’s days before anyone other than Mom, Pogo, and Five hear her speak. No one pressures her, though their questioning looks don’t go unnoticed.

September ends, and their birthday arrives. She thinks this year’s goes even better, is the best to date. Ben’s corporeal the entire evening, and Diego doesn’t throw a single knife. However, the best moment comes after Mom brings in their birthday cake.

Allison knows she’s rarely spoken since the surgery, but it doesn’t dawn on her until afterwards that she hadn’t spoken aloud in anyone’s presence since leaving the infirmary. When she decides to join her family in singing, “Happy Birthday,” her siblings aren’t the only ones shocked and excited. Hearing her own voice, in collaboration with theirs, delights her.

She catches Vanya’s gaze across the table. In that moment, she feels no guilt, no self-loathing, only hope and happiness. Allison smiles at her, and Vanya smiles back as a cool wind ripples through the room and embraces Allison in a hug. She blinks back tears at her sister’s gesture.

The party continues, and Allison’s freely singing, laughing, and speaking. Nothing goes wrong the entire night, and relief floods her. For the first time since the start of summer, Allison relaxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. ~Lem

**Author's Note:**

> If you've enjoyed this, please consider leaving kudos or a comment. Thanks for reading!


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